


Push the Bruise

by sister_wolf



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-02
Updated: 2004-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've walked further than he realized, all the way to the deep shadows beneath the highway overpass.  He hadn't intended to go this far, but isn't that always the way when it comes to Joe?  Leads him straight to the dark, dangerous places, and it'd almost be poetic, if it didn't smell like old garbage and diesel fumes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push the Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for issues of consent (not non-con, but could be considered coerced consent.)

Just off stage, and the final chord, the screams of the crowd, are still vibrating through Billy's bones. He can't stand still, can't stop moving, needs to get the fuck out of here, somewhere, anywhere, just _go_.

They've got roadies, this tour, so there's not even the need to load the van keeping him here. Billy grabs his jacket from the green-room sofa and heads out the side door, up the cement stairs and through the fire door, out into the alley that runs behind the club. The crowd hasn't even made it out of the venue yet-- no one's waiting by the stage door hoping for a chance to talk to the band, or get picked up by the band, more likely.

It's fucking cold out here, and for a second he considers forgetting about it, going back in to the inevitable post-show party, but he can't stop moving, can't stand the thought of one more night of drunken idiocy. Shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps going.

"Where are we going, William?" called mockingly from behind him, and he swears under his breath-- shit, Joe, last person he wants to deal with right now.

He pauses and glances over his shoulder. "Just going for a walk, Joseph. I'll be back in a few." Joe's closer than he thought, just a few feet away-- he's mighty fucking stealthy for a guy built like a hockey player, wearing combat boots.

Billy keeps walking, hoping Joe will back off, but no such luck. Joe catches up and falls in next to him, his shoulder brushing Billy's every few steps.

"I dunno, it could be dangerous out here this late at night. Never know who you might end up running into in a dark alley." Joe's got that smile again-- the one that makes him look like an axe murderer. It'd be scary even if Billy weren't perfectly aware of what Joe is capable of when he's in this sort of mood.

"I'll take my chances. Just going to pick up some more smokes." He doesn't want to be alone with Joe right now, with the weird, wired energy in the air tonight. Doesn't want to know what might happen-- but it's too damn late for that, he already knows.

"I'm starting to feel unwanted, Billiam. That's not buddies." Joe's smile sharpens, always a bad sign. Like a junkyard dog, the threat is proportionate to the number of sharp teeth displayed.

"Fine. Whatever." Billy keeps walking, keeps trying not to think of what happened last time. He was shitfaced drunk that night, they both were, but now he's stone cold sober and he's not going there, not again. It's just another one of Joe's fucking headgames, anyway.

They've walked further than he realized, all the way to the deep shadows beneath the highway overpass. He hadn't intended to go this far, but isn't that always the way when it comes to Joe? Leads him straight to the dark, dangerous places, and it'd almost be poetic, if it didn't smell like old garbage and diesel fumes.

It comes as a shock, even though he should have expected it-- Joe is fast and really fucking strong, and he's got Billy's arm bent painfully behind his back and his face shoved against the wall before he even knows what's happening. The side of his face is pressed into the cold, gritty brick, and he's trying to shove Joe off but he can't fucking move. "God fucking dammit, Joe, let me go!"

"Told you it wasn't safe out here this late at night, didn't I?" Joe's breath raises goosebumps on Billy's neck. He's a hot, heavy presence against Billy's back, and there's something coiling in Billy's stomach that doesn't quite feel like fear.

"Fuck _off_ , Joe. Let me go." Billy twists, tries to break Joe's hold on him, but Joe shoves a knee between his legs and tightens his hold on Billy's arm, twisting it up further until it fucking _hurts_.

"Say uncle." Joe's voice is all gravel and broken glass.

"Fuck you." He'd be lying if he said this wasn't turning him on, some twisted mixture of fear and anger and anticipation making him shake, making his breath come fast and shallow.

"Say it." Joe's knee comes up higher, forcing Billy to spread his knees more. " _Say it_."

" _Uncle_ ," and Billy goes limp, stops fighting, holds still when Joe lets his arm go. Joe's hand goes to Billy's zipper, and he doesn't fight, doesn't say anything when Joe fumbles his jeans open and slides his hand in. Billy's hard, already leaking, and he bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a moan of pleasure at Joe's hot, callused hand gripping him so tight, so good, _so good_.

Joe's other arm is helping brace Billy against the wall, and his forehead is pressing into Billy's shoulder. He's pretty sure Joe isn't even hard, but it's not surprising-- Joe's probably coked up to the gills.

Billy flattens his hands against the wall and closes his eyes, giving it up, giving it all up. He can't move, can't even thrust without the danger of abrading his dick against the brick wall, all he can do is close his eyes, bite his lip, try hard not to moan, not to cry out, not to ask for more than Joe will ever give.

He's almost there, at the edge, god, almost there-- and Joe growls, bites down _hard_ on Billy's shoulder, and he's gone, exploding, _oh fuck_ \-- he's fucking _broken open_ here.

Joe growls again, low in his throat, sounding just like the junkyard dog Billy knows he is, teeth holding onto Billy's shoulder, hand still curled tight around Billy's cock-- saying _I own you_ with his whole body.

And Billy know he shouldn't say anything-- Joe's dangerous, in this mood, could do worse than this to him if he's provoked, much worse-- but they're both sober this time, and Billy just wants him to fucking admit it, admit that this is _something_. "Joe--"

Joe lets go, practically jumps away from him, and Billy swings around to see him turned away, trying to light a cigarette with shaking hands. "Shut up, Billy," he mutters.

"No. This is something, Joe, this is more than buddies--"

"It's nothing, it's just some fun, jesus, Billy, just fucking get over it--"

"I'm not your motherfucking _toy_ , Joe, I'm not your--"

And Joe's shoving him against the wall again, snarling, "Mine, Billy, you're mine, they all think they can get a piece of you but you're _mine_ ," and part of Billy's mind is boggled by the thought that only Joe Dick could get jealous of their entire fucking audience, and the other part of his mind is completely focused on the way that Joe's kissing him, mouth slanted against his, tongue thrusting, hands gripping the sides of Billy's face as if he's afraid Billy will try to escape.

Joe kisses with his whole body, straining against him, and Billy knots his hands in Joe's thick hair and just holds on, kissing him back, trying to say with his body what Joe doesn't want him to say with words.

And when Joe rips his mouth away, breathing hard, something like pain carving deep lines to either side of his mouth, Billy holds on, holds on tight and silently says _yes_ and _yes_ and _mine_.


End file.
